


A Pipe Dream

by papofglencoe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Smut, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papofglencoe/pseuds/papofglencoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Peeta finds himself coping with his desire for Katniss as they sleep together in the Capitol prior to the Quarter Quell.</p><p>Canon-compliant. Rated M/NC-17 for sexual situations and language. If masturbation isn’t your thing, take a pass on this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pipe Dream

I don’t realize how starved I’ve been for human closeness, for the feel of her beside me in the dark, until she’s in my arms sleeping peacefully, and her hand is draped across my stomach.

I can feel an electric current coursing through my body, radiating from the spot where her hand rests on me, sending tingling sensations throughout my body even through the fabric of my shirt. Her fingers are splayed just above my groin, and although the position is natural for her in her sleep, it’s excruciating for me in my wakefulness. It’s so intimate, and I watch the hypnotic rise and fall of her hand every time I take a breath. Her touch burns me, sending liquid fire pulsing through my veins, and it’s the most delicious sort of pain. I feel so alive, and she has this effect on me every time. 

I gently bury my face into her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent. She smells like lavender and vanilla, and I want to plant a kiss on each silken strand of her hair. I want to twine my fingers around each tendril and kiss it a thousand times, pulling fervently on it until she moans with desire for more. 

I can count on two fingers the number of nights I have left in this world, and I think that allows me the privilege of reveling in her closeness, of indulging in these thoughts. I allow myself to become overwhelmed with happiness by her warm and trustful body pressed against mine, her leg curled around me. I can feel the heat of her breath as she exhales onto my neck. It feels hot and damp against my skin, and it makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. I gently caress the smooth skin of her hand, holding it against my stomach. I remember to breathe slowly, not to disturb her.

I want to kiss her. Deeply. I want to shake her shoulders to wake her, grasp her face in my hands, part her lips with my thumb. I want to explore every inch of her mouth with my tongue before I move onto her neck and collarbone. I want to kiss the top of her neck, below her ear, where the soft raven-black locks of her hair form delicate wisps. I want to kiss her thoroughly and then move downward along her body and kiss her there, too. 

If I’m being honest, I want to fuck her. I want to hear what sounds Katniss Everdeen makes as I find my way inside of her. I want to feel her bare skin and the motion of her narrow hips bucking in rhythm with mine. I want to melt into her pale grey eyes and fill them with happiness and pleasure. I want to lose myself in her, change into something better than myself. I want to twine our fingers together and pin her to the bed, muffle our groans with persistent kisses. 

This is an inconvenient fantasy. My dick has begun to swell and throb, and I’m biting my tongue to keep from groaning as I think about the contours of her body melding against mine. I’m never going to fall asleep if this continues, and the last thing I want is for her to wake up and notice my erection or think I can’t sleep because of nightmares.

I don’t want her embarrassment or pity either, so I gently disengage her body from mine, careful not to wake her. I slink over to her bathroom as quietly as I can and lock myself in so that she doesn’t come looking for me and accidentally walk in. I turn on the shower, randomly pushing one of the hundreds of buttons on its control panel and, quickly divesting myself of my pajamas, step into the stream.

I’ve made the water as cold as I can stand it, registering that it smells like mint through my mental haze. This recognition, and the memories it conjures, makes me groan in frustration. These fucking showers in the Capitol. I think about our kisses in the arena, the way they tasted of freshly crushed mint. I think about her lips delicately pressing themselves to mine. How cool they felt, how she gently flicked her tongue against my teeth. 

And then I think about the way her lips would feel wrapped around my cock, the way her tongue would gently flick the head. I think about her wet mouth along my length, how she’d hold me deep in her mouth and make me quiver as she looked up at me. How I’d guide her fingers to my balls, and she’d gently squeeze and tug them until the dueling sensations would make me throw my head back in agony. 

I press my forehead against the cold tile of the shower and squeeze my eyes shut in exasperation. I smack my right palm against the wall. This feels grotesque and wrong. She doesn’t even like me, I think, or at least not in the same way I like her. She isn’t mine to have. I’m just her fake TV boyfriend, some bullshit sap so far gone on her that he’s willing to die to send her home to her true love. But this knowledge doesn’t make me want her any less. In fact, it seems to have the opposite effect. It makes my need for her greater. I want her so badly and on one of my last nights on earth, I want to imagine what it would be like to be with Katniss. Not just what it would be like to be with someone, but what it would be like to be with her.

I take a handful of fruit-scented soap and lather myself up, slowly stroking myself as I think about all the things I’d like to do to her if only she wanted me. I would worship her. I’d lay her down, spread her legs apart, and gently place them over my shoulders. I’d trace my fingers up along her thighs and center, exploring every inch of her, and then I’d taste her, running my tongue along her until I found all the spots that made her hips squirm. I wonder how she’d taste, how she’d feel. I want to make her breath hitch, her eyes squeeze shut in pleasurable concentration. I want her to grasp my hair, push me closer to her as I caress her. I want to make her moan for me so that when she’s good and ready she’d ask me to fuck her. To please fuck her. 

She’d take her small hand and guide me inside of her, slowly at first, just the head of my cock. Our faces would be so close our noses would touch. I’d count the freckles on her nose to keep calm, and we’d stare into each other’s eyes.

I’m rubbing myself slowly, rhythmically, the water of the shower pelting down onto me. And even with my eyes closed, I can see the smiles we’d have on our faces the moment my body joins with hers. I can feel my shit-eating grin at the moment that Katniss becomes mine, and I become hers. We’re incandescently happy, and we’re the only thing in the world. It’s just us. Nothing but us. The water cascades down on me, and I imagine that it’s her face, bashfully buried into my shoulder. She’s so beautiful when she blushes. She’s gripping my arm tightly, and I can see her knuckles whiten from the pressure. 

I’m squeezing my cock tighter and pumping faster, and I can feel her walls tighten around me. Her hips pick up the pace, thrusting me deeper inside of her. Her arms are wrapped firmly around me, and she’s clawing at my back. Our bodies are sweaty and slick; I can feel the wetness seeping out of her, so warm, and I’m sliding effortlessly in and out now. With every thrust, she exhales, and we’re basically panting. I feel exhilarated, weightless. I’m holding myself up with my right arm so that I can watch our bodies move in tandem.

I see her small, round breasts bobbing from the movement, and I lean down to take one of her nipples into my mouth. I flick my tongue around it, sucking gently, and I’m taken aback by the ferocity of the sound that emanates from her mouth. She’s lost in pleasure, moaning wildly, and she clutches my head against her, tearing at my hair. I feel her walls pulsing, squeezing me repeatedly, and she’s so wet. Her entire body shudders, and she’s gasping for breath. I look at her face as she comes, her eyes shut and mouth agape. I lean my face to hers and kiss her then, lovingly stroking her tongue with mine.

And then I feel the pressure building for my own release, and it’s unbearable. It’s like she’s touching me everywhere, like she’s inside my veins and coursing through me. My balls tighten, and then my dick pulses in my hand several times, ejaculating semen into the water stream as I feel myself coming inside of her. I watch with hazy vision and hitched breath as the the admixture swirls down the drain. My ears are ringing. I wash myself off with some atrocious floral soap–roses, I think.

I’ve never felt emptier in my life. I wonder what her kisses will taste like in the Quell, when she kisses me for the cameras. I wonder if I’ll even live long enough to know.

I sink to the floor of the shower, unable to move. I’m overcome with grief for the thing I’ll never have. It’s all just fantasies and dreams, and she doesn’t want me. There’s just tonight and whatever tomorrow brings. After that, I’ll die protecting her. And she will probably try to do the same for me. Because that’s what we do. But she doesn’t love me, doesn’t want me. And I’ll never know what it’s like to touch Katniss Everdeen, to taste her, to feel her writhe beneath me as she buries her face into me.

None of this is real.


End file.
